


An Anthology of Dreams

by Kamari333



Series: Dr33mtal3 [2]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Alternate Universe - Dr33mtal3 (Undertale), Coffee, Dr33mtal3 Sans | Dream (Undertale), Fresh | Parasite (Undertale), Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Language Barrier, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parasite Host Sans | Fresh (Undertale), Sans (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Science Sans | Sci (Undertale), _____tale Sans | Ink (Undertale)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:21:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28577439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamari333/pseuds/Kamari333
Summary: Dream didn't always have the multiverse at his back. He had to gain his following one person at a time.
Series: Dr33mtal3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733713
Comments: 73
Kudos: 54





	1. The First Dreamer: Sci

**Author's Note:**

> :3 Lets see whats going on with Dream~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Dream meets Sci, a Sans from a timeline set before the classic Undertale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it isnt done already, I'm going to reorganize the series so that its more chronological:3
> 
> Enjoy seeing how Sci and Dream met~

Sans was at his desk, as always, analyzing his latest attempt at a synthetic soul compound. His last two-thousand-and-twenty trials had been devastating failures, but even Dr Gaster was intrigued by his steady progress.

Sans had a good feeling about-

"Hi, Sci!!" Shouted a voice from behind him, loud and hollow despite the mechanical cheer synthesized in it.

Sans jumped, his hands flinching at just the wrong moment. The volatile mixture was jostled, the kinetic energy triggering a chemical one that set off a chain reaction. The glass vial shattered, the liquid energy exploding into thermal radiation.

Sans was glad that he was wearing goggles. And gloves. And a labcoat. He was covered in soot and first degree burns.

"Are you okay, there, buddy?" Asked that same voice, devoid of any genuine empathy.

Sans sighed, pulling off his gloves and goggles. "i will live." He turned, not to face his visitor, but to switch on his coffee pot set against the far wall. "wha'da'ya want, ink?"

"I-" Ink started, only to stop again, which wasn't unusual for the creature.

Sans finally looked at his guest. Ink stood at a whopping one-hundred-and-thirty centimeters (give or take), shorter than Sans himself by a head. Sans always expects to have to look a little down when Ink comes to visit.

What Sans wasn't expecting was to have to look twice, as this time Ink did not seem to be alone. Ink had what looked like a tiny (and by tiny, Sans meant 'smaller than Ink') skeleton monster slung over his shoulder, great feathered wings shaped not unlike a bird's folded tight to their back. They were dressed in golds and creams, the fabric thick and rich with expensive embroidery. On their feet were sturdy black boots that bore marks of heavy wear.

Their wings glowed with a faint light, like a sunset stretched over the western skies in those old movies he and Papyrus scavenged from the dump (the ones about cowboys).

"I forgot!" Ink admitted, cheerfully. He laughed.

"who is that?"

"Who is who?"

"them," Sans snapped, pointing. Maybe he was a little cranky, having had no sleep for two days and just being blown up, but Sans wasn't concerned about politeness with Ink. As dangerous and unpredictable as he was, politeness had very little influence on the creature one way or another.

Ink looked at the monster on his shoulder. "...I... I guess I forgot that too!" He reached for a vial on his bandolier, pulling one decorated with an orange stopper. He went to drink the paint, only to spit it out again, splattering sparking gold pigment all over Sans' floor. "Oh... right..." he muttered, seemingly more concerned with his paint habit than the monster he was still holding.

Sans wiped sweat off his face, wishing he could wipe away his exhaustion as easily. "great." Perfect. Wonderful.

Ink put his burden down on the floor, waving his other hand in jittering arcs. "No, no, wait, I might have written it down! I write lots of things down!" He started looking over his scarf, scanning its surface manically.

Sans gave the unconscious monster a cursory once over, noting the splatters of black (looking like Ink's signature excitement secretion) on their face and soaking the front of their clothes. Sans might have investigated further, if the coffee machine hadn't gone off, indicating the completion of his liquid ambrosia. More interested in coffee, Sans turned to the machine and started to pour himself a revitalizing cup of his dark, bitter brew.

The smell was ameliorating in and of itself, a placebo of comfort that Sans readily welcomed as he waited for his drink to cool. The heat radiating from his mug was soothing, working life back into his stiff, sore fingers.

Sans loved coffee.

"Ah-hah!" Ink exclaimed, and Sans barely kept from flinching, clutching his cup tighter. "I _did_ write it down! It's right here: 'found new person! Ask Sci to communicate'!" Another pause. "...'ask sci to communicate'?"

Sans turned to face Ink again, watching the airhead scratch his skull in a comical display of performative emotion. Ink's cheery smile was still plastered across his face, his heterochromatic eyes flashing in various shades of yellow as they shifted between shapes far slower than usual. Sans had to admit, it was odd to see Ink so... monochromatic. Usually he had a whole spectrum of hues, jumping between them erratically.

Even the paints in his vials were all a bright, shimmering golden color. Sans couldn't help wondering what had happened.

"so... you were having trouble talking to this guy..." Sans thought aloud. "and thought the best solution was to kidnap them and bring them to me?"

"..." Ink looked at his scarf, then at the person still on the floor, then back at his scarf, then at Sans, then at his scarf one last time. "...That sounds about right!" He started laughing.

It wasn't particularly funny.

The smaller monster began to stir, letting out a soft, confused vocalization not unlike a groggy kitten. Their wings went from soft, comforting gold to a blazing bright neon, oversaturated and blinding by comparison. The scent in the air changed, every facet of existence suddenly colored in a new light, both literally and figuratively.

Sans was suddenly, inexplicably _happy_. He thought, logically, that he would have been terrified by the change if he had been physically capable of fear. It was such a strange, new phenomena, that he couldn't help the flash of excitement at studying what had to be the source.

"intriguing..!" Sans thought aloud. He sipped his coffee ( _and how wonderful coffee was, the perfect drink to give him strength for his new subject of study!_ ), then set his mug on the table and knelt in front of the winged creature. "how are you doing that? is it on purpose? what is your name?"

The winged skeleton looked back at Sans with big, bright gold eyelights. Sans could just catch a furrow of a confused brow, the change so minute it could have been easily missed by someone unused to reading micro-expressions. Their smile was small, tentative. They fluttered their wings in a stretch before settling them against their back.

Sans waited patiently for an answer. When the creature spoke, it was in a language that Sans had only learned a few words of from Gaster: " _Me paenitet, sed non intelligere te..._ "

Sans felt the smile creep over his face, the clues falling into place. "latin? you don't speak- oh, this will be a fascinating puzzle to work through. uh-" Sans scrambled for what little he knew. "quid tui nomen?"

There was a decided pause, the kind of hesitation that made sans think the monster was choosing their words carefully. " _...Vocor Somne sum._ "

"What is he saying?" Ink asked, bouncing with his excitement.

Sans knew the feeling. "i think he said his name was.... uh... sleep? dream?"

"Success!" Ink fistpumped the air. "I knew I could count on you! Or, probably knew, I forgot!" The creature spun his oversized paintbrush in the air, all for theatrical effect that Sans knew was completely unnecessary, before swiping a great swath of paint on the floor. "Anyway, how about you teach the little guy some common while I'm gone, okay?"

A part of Sans, logically, wanted to argue that Ink was being unreasonable on a number of levels. What Sans, for whatever reason (a reason he suspected had very much to do with his new guest), actually did, was nod dumbly. "sure thing. not a problem."

Sans was a frustratingly agreeable fool when he was in a good mood. Logically, Sans should have been furious at himself. Instead, he was happy, even _eager_ , to be of service.

Ink giggled, waving a final farewell as he stepped into the paint splatter like it was a bottomless pool, falling through it and disappearing only stars knew where.

Sans stared at the paint, watching as the unusual shimmer it had faded to a dull specularity more consistent with normal pigment. He then turned to his guest. "welp, better get started. let me get that dictionary... uh," Sans pointed to the floor, smiling down at his new guest and possible pupil. " _manes hic_ , please, thanks buddy."

After seeing his feathered friend give a polite nod, shifting to be more comfortable on the floor, Sans left the lab.

He made it two steps before the weight of what had happened settled on his soul. Sans stumbled as if physically struck, leaning against the opposite wall of the hallway to keep from falling. At first he stopped breathing entirely, then took deep, desperate, gasping breaths in motions mirroring that one time he nearly drowned in the river. Sans shook his head, which was once again pounding as though it had never ceased, wiping at his sockets.

This was bullshit, utter bullshit. What the _hell_ was that idiot thinking, dumping off a stranger in Sans' lap like Ink could just boss him around! Sans had _work_ to do! What fucking bills was Ink paying to give him _more_ to do?!

And what if the new guy didn't want to learn a new language, huh?! What then?! Of all the stupid-

Sans groaned, slowly shaking off what almost reminded him of a bad trip. At the very least, whatever the hell was in his lab was genuinely interesting (from a scientific standpoint). Maybe if he showed Dr Gaster, he might get a new grant for the second branch of study.

Assuming, again, that Dream (the name seemed fitting, somehow) gave consent to Sans' tests...

Sans was definitely going to need more coffee.

* * *

Sans eventually found the old Latin dictionary gathering dust in an equally old filing cabinet. Pages were missing, and parts of it were smudged by water damage, but it would be a start.

Before he went back in there, however, Sans ran to find Dr Gaster. If Sans was going to deal with that- that whatever-it-was, he desperately wanted funding for his efforts. Maybe for a nice hazmat suit. Or at least more coffee.

Gaster regarded Sans with his usual apathy and disregard, but a bit of cajoling got him to investigate. Gaster was in Sans' lab for all of five minutes before he came back out, muttering about a new thesis and government funding.

Sans got his grant. And a small bonus for the initial discovery. What surprised him was Gaster assigning himself to the project as well.

Gaster never did that without a very, very good reason.

Dream was (thankfully) a dedicated student, seemingly eager to learn. Sans only had to hand him the translation book for him to start working through it. Sans didn't even need to work with him through most of it, although he tried to make himself available for questions.

Hazmat suits did not work as well as Sans had hoped. On top of that, Sans had to move Dream to a second room so his presence would not disturb his other experiments. He had to use monitors to watch the guy whenever he was spending time on other projects.

It was unsettling how little Dream moved, how little he spoke. He sat there, in one spot, for literal hours. He didn't even complain!

It made Sans uneasy.

Dream's checks made Sans uneasy too. Parts of his data were scrambled, or presented as emoji's. His flavortext only ever said, 'Wants to make you happy.'

Like that wasn't creepy or anything, given the circumstances.

Sans and Gaster took turns interacting with Dream, trying to minimize exposure to whatever-it-was-Dream-did. Sans knew Gaster spoke Dream's language well enough, but it was obvious he was trying to ease Dream into common for the sake of convenience.

Of course, Gaster pushed on with his theories. Something about a cure for Falling Down, although Sans only understood parts of the thesis since it had been written in that other language.

Sans just wished it didn't unsettle him so to watch Gaster take samples. Dream's smile, the way his body trembled resisting a flinch... Sans decided he didn't need to watch.

* * *

It had been three months, and Dream was finally ready for a basic interview. Sans had constructed a room split by a thick wall of glass, which had tested well in minimizing what he had taken to calling 'Dream's Influence'. Sans had a theory that Dream's Influence was limited by some arbitrary area of effect, perhaps related to Dream's own perception. Intent played a significant role in a monster's magic, and Sans had no reason to believe Dream functioned otherwise.

Regardless, the glass wall worked, and Sans was legitimately excited to conduct a real interview!

"ok, buddy, can you hear me?" Sans started.

" _I can hear you,_ " Dream answered, sitting prim and polite on the little stool he had been provided with on his side of the glass. Sans had picked the softest, most comfortable stool he could find, hoping it would help make Dream feel more at home.

It was hard to tell if it worked. Dream reacted much the same no matter what they gave him. Except coffee. The man liked coffee. Sans could relate.

"great. so, i'm going to ask you some questions, and i want you to answer them as best you can, okay?"

" _It is well._ "

Sans couldn't tell if Dream was still struggling with the language, or if he just preferred mimicking Gaster's use of it.

"great. ok. we'll start with an easy one: what is your name?"

Again, there was a pause, just the same kind of thoughtfulness as their first encounter. Dream looked into the translation book, smile tight. " _...I am called 'Dream.'_ "

Sans wrote down the answer. "works for me. next, what is your favorite color?"

Dream checked the book again. " _...Blue._ "

"what do ya like to do for fun?"

Another pause. " _...To help._ "

Sans squinted at the monster, writing down the answer despite the odd feeling he got. "anything else you like?"

" _Be..._ " A soft flush colored Dream's face as he finally broke eye contact. His smile never wavered, but somehow seemed softer. " _...Be... reading to me...?_ "

Sans found himself relaxing. "no harm in that. lots of folks like being read to."

Dream's smile grew wider, and, Sans realized, more _genuine_.

"cool. ok. uh... how old are you?"

Dream paused again, for much longer than usual. His brows furrowed in thought. " _...I do not know... but..._ " He counted on his fingers, murmuring numbers under his breath. " _Four... Five... Six. I remember six springs._ "

"six springs, huh..." Sans repeated, scratching the humble number down in his notes. "six springs... six-"

_What._

Sans did a double take, his soul sinking into panic. Six. Ink had kidnapped a six-year-old and left him here, and they had- this whole time they had-

_Oh god, Sans let a six-year-old drink **black coffee** -_

"where are your parents?!" Sans found himself blurting.

" _Not here now..._ " Dream looked down at the book again, flipping a few pages. The wait gave Sans even more time to spiral. " _...Death. Dead? That not here._ " He said it with a smile, one hand reaching up to scratch under his sockets. The sound was grating.

A dry crack rang out, like plaster flaking off an old wall. A chip of ivory fell from the groove under Dream's fingertips, making what Sans had assumed were discolored bags under his sockets even deeper.

"stop that-" Sans all but shouted.

Dream froze, slowly lowering his hand back to his lap. Sure enough, the crack under his socket had widened.

"fuck-" Sans stood up, holding his face in his hands. What the _actual fuck_ had he gotten himself into?!

Sans was so busy having a fucking panic attack that he barely registered the alarm going off. Just as he was finally coming to himself, Sans heard the glass wall shatter to his left, the noise deafening. Time seemed to slow, although Sans did not have the reflexes to react. A streak of blinding golden light shot through the air, through the glass, passing right in front of Sans's chest.

A shining wire that Sans hadn't noticed was sliced clean through, resounding with a sickening twang. The air pressure of the glowing beam's passing knocked Sans back, and he fell on his ass to the floor.

The shining thing struck the back wall to Sans' right. When Sans looked at it, a shining golden arrow was sticking out of the metal plating. On the floor between Sans's legs was a limp strand of cobalt string.

The alarm blared.

Dream vaulted through the hole in the glass, skidding to a halt in front of Sans. There was a sharpness to his grin, a life to his eyes. Dream flared his wings wide, scattering sparks of gold all over the floor. He planted himself firmly in a practiced stance between Sans and the exit, giving Sans his back so he could only hear him knocking another arrow to his bow.

Before Sans could say anything, Dream shot another length of blue string out of the air, the severed end falling limp to the floor with the rest of the debris.

And Sans was _happy_. His panic was wrapped in a blanket of comfort that wouldn't let him go. He was dizzy with it, unable to bring himself to move.

After some number of shots that Sans didn't have the faculties to keep track of, Dream turned to offer his hand to Sans. " _Let us go. Friend. Find more help now._ "

Dream's smile was still sharp, eyelights vivid, deep and fathomless as a sea of molten gold. Sans took his hand, and let the child-that-was-not-a-child-right-now lead him out of the labs. Sans was happy to let him take the lead, although, logically, he knew he should have been the one in charge, the one taking responsibility.

The next few minutes were a blur of changing scenery, streaks of blue, and the ever-present gold of Dream's wings as they lit their way through the darkness.

The unrestrained heat of Hotland smacked Sans in the face so suddenly he flinched, losing hold of Dream's guiding hand. Dream tightened his grip, pulling a little harder to keep Sans moving.

Sans gradually picked up on the sound of voices, chaotic, artificial bass, static hisses, and Ink's familiar laughter echoing from the direction of the Waterfall caverns. Uncountable strings were stuck at irregular angles, most terminating in piles of dust.

Something nagged at the back of Sans' mind, something important. Where was Papyrus? Was he okay? _Of course_ he was, _everything_ was okay.

Dream pulled Sans further, towards the chaotic noise that resolved into the sounds of an Encounter. The exit tunnel was choked in strings. Dream took another shot with his bow, blowing through them in a blinding display, clearing a path for him and Sans.

Sans followed, happy enough to be included.

Something nagged at the back of Sans' mind. Something important.

"Hi Sci!" Ink greeted, cheerful as ever despite dodging a ~~disturbing~~ impressive number of strings with various acrobatic twists in the air. The jacket tied about his waist like fluttered like a cape.

"what's going on..?" Sci asked. Something nagged at the back of his mind, something important, but he was just happy to see a friendly(-ish) face.

"Oh, right, you two haven't met!" Ink pointed with his oversized brush. "Sci, this is my best buddy, Error!"

Sci looked up, and up, and up again, until he saw it: a man of black ivory and blue stitching, eyelights lit in red and yellow and blue, with blue tear streaks staining either side of his manic grin.

" **i WaS wOnDeRiNg WhAt WaS gOiNg On OvEr ThErE,** " said a voice like static, like corruptio. " **aNoThEr AbOmInAtIoN. i'Ll JuSt-** "

The anomalous being was cut off by his own scream as he fell, dropped from his nest of strings when Dream's arrow sliced through them from above. Sans heard the scream bounce on the rocks, eventually ending in a distant splash.

Ink laughed. "Nice shot!"

As if to argue, the earth shook around them.

"Uh, oh. Time to go!" Ink splattered the ground in a bright orange streak of pigment, then, taking Sans and Dream in hand, plunged into its inexplicable depths.

As Sans was melted into continuous consciousness, made as paint, something nagged at the back of his mind.

Where was Papyrus?

* * *

Ink, Dream, and Sans came out on the other side, landing in what appeared to be an endless expanse of white.

Ink started to talk at them in his usual fashion, something about a bet and a prank. Sans couldn't quite focus on him.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something important. Where was Papyrus?

"what just happened?" Sans finally asked.

"What do you mean?" Ink leaned on his broom, grinning.

"where are we, and why?"

Ink hummed. "Well... we're sorta nowhere. This is just a random pocket of blank canvas. Error calls it an 'anti-void', but really its just a chunk of infinity where creators sometimes make new things!" 

"anti-void? and why are we here?" The nagging was starting to physically hurt, like a headache that pounded in time with Sans' soul. Dream shifted closer, curling one of his wings around Sans. The radiated warmth helped to numb the pain, but Sans wondered if that was what he wanted.

Ink scratched his cheek. "Well... I wasn't really looking where I was going, and sometimes liminal spaces like this look like finished universes from the outside, if you're not paying attention. My bad!" He stuck out his tongue, colorful and slender at the tip.

"why... were you trying to take us to another universe?"

"Well, we couldn't stay in yours! It was falling apart!"

"falling apart..?"

"Yeah.. once Error does enough damage to the code, it starts a chain reaction and the whole universe eventually disintegrates. Anything left inside when that happens usually falls apart with it. So its not fun to get caught!"

Something nagged at the back of Sans' mind.

"...Sci? Hey, buddy, you still with me?" Ink sipped one of his paints.

" _It is well, friend,_ " Dream's voice echoed.

Sans's soul hurt. His head hurt. He was happy. He wasn't supposed to be happy. Logically- logically-

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Something important.

_Something-_

* * *

The next thing Sans knew, he was waking up in a room he didn't recognize, in a bed that wasn't his. The room was painted in a tasteful blue and cream, with warm redwood borders.

When Sans looked down at himself, his shirt was stained in red, darkened and dried in a telling stream.

Something nagged at the back of his mind. Sans finally, finally sat down with that something, cradling it metaphorically to his chest, and let himself cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	2. The Second Dreamer: Fresh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sci is still working through his feelings, but there is now an infestation of 1 (one) Fresh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this made me think of my cousin, Alaina. It is a good feeling.
> 
> Even if I think I didn't do the man justice, lol.

Sci sat in the kitchen of the little cottage, staring absently at the wall. There was no food in the house, and worse, no coffee, but Sci had learned the hard way that it was impossible to die of starvation in a liminal space.

On the downside, there was no coffee. On the bright side, Dream was studying quietly in his room. Whatever Dream did that made Sci feel high as a moose (was that the phrase?) he didn't seem to reach beyond whatever room he was in at any given time, which meant Sci was blessedly left alone with his grief in relative peace.

Ink had made a nice enough house (although the hows still escaped Sci, he could not argue against what lay before his eyes), even if it lacked certain niceties like food. It was quaint, a lovely two story thing with plenty of space. Even so, the place felt empty, quiet, and Sci's rather purposeful avoidance of Dream did little to help that.

Sci owed Dream his life. Sober, Sci still felt a selfish bitterness towards him, and shame that he felt so much bitterness towards a child who had only ever tried to help him.

Maybe what Sci needed wasn't coffee at all. Maybe he needed some hard ketchup, the kind that's basically bourbon in a tomato costume. Maybe he needed to get some hard ketchup and drink it straight from the fucking bottle until his bones run more with booze than blood.

"How's a brah supposed ta veg out without any grindage, yo?"

Sci bit back a yelp, flinching so hard it knocked him off his feet and into the wall. When he looked, there was someone he'd never met before, half their body in the now-open fridge. Sci could see the garish colors of an 80s neon track suit. "who the-" Sci finally exclaimed when he found his voice, although his speech was broken by the noise made by squeezing a rubber chicken- "are you?!"

The stranger froze, then slowly stood up straight from their bent posture, closing the refrigerator door with a soft wump. They stood at maybe 190 centimeters tall, not counting the extra inch from their helicopter blade baseball cap. When they turned, Sci could see their large black sunglasses with neon lettering, which covered most of their face. The person smiled, showing off a gold implant from where they had lost a tooth. The lettering on their glasses read, 'YO-LO'.

Sci had had the unfortunate privilege of experiencing the presence of things that were neither human nor monster. By this point, he was rather confident he could recognize something 'other' when he saw it; and this, whatever this was looking back at him from behind those sunglasses, was something decidedly _other_. Sci didn't feel the prod of a check, exactly, but he swore he could feel _something_ staring into his soul, or just _at_ his soul, as if it were a superficial commodity to be weighed and measured by some arbitrary value. This thing looked at Sci like Gaster had looked at his college interns, ready to wring him of any value and toss him aside when he broke.

"Swearing ain't fresh, yo," the thing said, making a noise like the click of a tongue as he waggled his index finger, "but neither's bein' all un-introduced, so lets call it even. The name's Fresh. You?"

Sci gulped, uncertain if it was safe to move. "...sci." He wasn't really Sans anymore. Sans wasn't Sans without Papyrus, as far as Sci was concerned. Ink's nickname for him would do.

"Rad." Fresh grinned wider. "Ya got a real sweet crib here, brochacho. Was thinkin'... might make a nice place ta chill, feel me?"

"i- what?" Did this thing want to live here?

Fresh crept closer. "But gotta say, ain't right to squat in another brah's business, yo, so..." He took another step closer, his glasses reading out 'C-YA' inexplicably (and ominously). Sci saw a purple tendril curl out from under the thing's left lens, another tendril curling down from the top rim, as if they were gripping it from behind. A faint purple mist leaked from that side of the creature's face. "How's about I help ya get all packed, huh?"

Sci instinctively tried to summon a weapon, something, a bone, anything, but fear was a powerful drug. He found himself frozen in the face of this new, unknowable threat.

A part of him welcomed it.

Just as Fresh was almost within arm's reach, a blinding golden light shot from the kitchen doorway. It passed between Sci and Fresh, but only because Fresh dodged backwards, and even still, the shimmering arrow knocked his glasses clean off his face. Fresh reared back a few more steps so he wasn't in front of the open doorway, covering his left socket. The purple tendrils receded, although the mist still wafted between his fingers.

" _Stop._ " Dream's sweet, soft voice was heavy with command he should have been too young to evoke. " _My friend. I will protect._ "

Sci shifted closer to the doorway, feeling his body tremble with the anxieties that were warring with themselves.

How pathetic, to be saved by a child a second time.

Fresh looked at his glasses, which were cracked on the floor, then at the doorway, then Sci. Slowly, deliberately, while smiling the emptiest smile that Sci had seen since Ink, Fresh reached into his jacket and pulled out a second pair of sunglasses, which he flicked open with a single motion of his wrist. In the moments between when he lowered his hand from his socket and settled his glasses on his face, Sci thought he saw something looking back at him from within Fresh’s skull. He thought he saw an eye (not an eyelight, but a physical, spherical eye), shining in the glow of a cracked, summoned soul.

Sci knew he would be having nightmares for weeks, at the least.

Sci knew he really wanted that hard ketchup, now more than ever.

After adjusting his glasses, (after which they read out 'R-AD'), Fresh also pulled out a small white flag. He pressed himself against the wall next to the doorway, sticking the flag out to wave it at Dream. "I give, I give! You win, brah! Truce?"

There was that quiet, thoughtful pause that Dream always took to think. " _...I do not understand. Sci? Are you well?_ "

"i'm okay." Contemplating alcoholism and scarred for life, but Sci would live. "he says you win. he wants to be friends."

Fresh crooked a brow at Sci, but his voice betrayed none of that. "Sure do, broski."

" _...It is well. Welcome, then, friend._ " Dream finally answered.

Fresh flashed Sci a cheeky smirk before slipping out of the doorway. When Sci finally stopped shaking enough to peek, he saw Fresh (who was taller than Sci) circling around Dream, holding his chin in a display of performative thought and curiosity. "Yo! Another one! Nice ta meet ya, lil brah. Name's Fresh."

" _You can call me Dream... What is 'brah'?_ "

Fresh went very still, his glasses reading a string of question marks. "Brah is brah, brah... He okay in the head?" The last seemed to be directed at Sci.

"he just started learning common, recently. he's still new at it." Sci wasn't certain what unsettled him more: Dream's apparent ease around what even to Sci was obviously something unnatural, or Fresh's lack of peculiar behavior in what was definitely Dream's sphere of influence.

" _I finished my homework, Sci,_ " Dream interjected, that soft glimmer of genuine pride coloring his usually subdued tone. " _Leave it in livingroom for you?_ "

"...Homework??"

"i'm homeschooling him." It was honestly the only thing Sci had to do in the house. He doubted he'd get out of bed at all if he didn't have Dream to feel partially responsible for. Fresh continued to give Sci that unsettling stare, those question marks on his glasses shifting colors. The weight of his attention just doubled down on Sci's discomfort. Sci wasn't sure if he loved it or hated it, if he were honest: it was refreshing to feel so uncomfortable after the regular bouts of manic bliss that Dream's proximity set off.

"...he's six?" Sci didn't quite know what Fresh wanted from him.

"Wait, back up: lil brah's a lil brah?" Fresh turned back to Dream, looming, still as a puppet left hanging.

Dream looked back up at him, his own perpetual smile small and cautious, his wings fluttering in an absent stretch.

"...Welp. Can't go leaving kiddos unsupervised. Real unfresh of you, Sci-tato."

" _...'Kiddos?'_ " Dream parroted quietly, tasting the word. " _Sci tei toe?_ "

"C'mere lil brotato chip, let’s see them learnings together, huh?" Fresh picked Dream up, settled the kid on his shoulders, and ran off back into the livingroom. Dream stared at Sci, sockets wide, until the walls broke his line of sight.

Sci definitely needed a drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Did Fresh just... adopt Dream? o-0


	3. Day-By-Daydreams 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life goes on, even in a liminal space without any actual life. Sci adapts. And learns about his new responsibility and friend. He also has a lot of headaches, but, thats okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what the pacing of this particular anthology is going to be, even though I know it roughly parallels with its twin.
> 
> Time is meaningly. XD

Dream had an impeccable internal clock. Sci found this out by chance, while enduring his influence to coach him through some simple arithmetic and calendar time (something that Fresh had decided he did not want to teach that day, fickle and feckless as any unknowable creature -- and Sci was not so foolish to think he could convince the thing to do what he did not want to).

At the very least, while in the act, Sci felt perfectly happy to do it. Enthusiastic, even. It was a joy to be around Dream (even if he knew he was going to be sporting quite the head-cold afterwards). Dream studied hard and was making incredible progress in his language learning! It was a joy to have such a dedicated student who was so thirsty for knowledge!

"so, if we came to this house on- on m...may..?" Sci started, hand up to point out the date on a makeshift calendar he'd drawn up, only to find he couldn't recall when they had arrived.

" _July the seventh,_ " Dream corrected, softly.

Sci rubbed his sockets. He had to think hard about when the world, or at least _his_ world, had come to an end. His head ached, and for too long the information seemed out of reach.

Maybe it didn't matter. Sci was happy enough to go along with whatever would help Dream learn. It was probably just as Dream said. He didn't need to remember...

He didn't need...

It was at that point Sci pulled himself out of the room, stumbling into the foyer and taking a long, deep breath of clear air. He felt sweat slick down his skull as the inevitable migraine crashed over him, threatening to knock his legs out from under him. He leaned against the wall, taking the slow, measured breaths he needed to take, blinking flecks of gold from his sockets.

Sci hated it. He hated how cloudy it made his mind, how miserable it left him afterwards. He needed some fucking coffee. There was no coffee. He hated that too.

Most of all, Sci hated how his memory was beginning to slip, little things fading. Sci had always, always had a photographic memory. He took notes for the formality of it, to get the credit and share it with others (someone, he's sure, had wanted those files, he had files, he'd been proud of his notation). His phone had a few pictures, a few memos, even an old voicemail he hadn't had the heart to delete, but there was only one place he'd recorded a memorial to the day he had lost everything.

Sci slid down to sit on the floor, taking another deep, steadying breath before pulling his labcoat open and inspecting the inner lining. There, in heavy cobalt string that buzzed like overcharged wires even after all that time, Sci had sewn the date in lazy, sloppy stitching: March twenty-first.

Setting aside the infuriating ache of having forgotten something so important to him, Sci got back to his feet, Steeling himself, Sci strode back to Dream's side in the livingroom. The pervasive positivity that seeped into him, body and soul, was almost a relief. "it's march twenty-first."

Dream tilted his head to one side. " _...I cannot lie to you, my friend. We arrived here on the second month of summer, which you call July, and it was the seventh day..._ " Dream's small voice only got softer, smaller, as he spoke, one hand creeping up to scratch at one of the scars on his cheekbones.

Sci caught Dream's wrist, gently lowering his hand. "you really sure about this?"

" _I feel it is so._ " Dream said, still soft. " _But you feel it is otherwise. You know it is otherwise. How can both be true?_ "

Sci felt a big smile spread across his face. "alternate universes!" His soul leapt at the idea of teaching something he was once so passionate about again. Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Sci started to scribble notes, formulas, a few diagrams to illustrate his point. "before ink showed up and proved it, we had theorized that alternate realities, which may only differ by so much as the flip of a single coin, could exist out in the multiverse. a few attempts to create a way to travel between these universes were made, but i never got to finish my projects. anyway, any two universes which contain life must, of course have natural laws and fundamental structures which support this life, but the minute details, timing, and other small deviations can be observably different between them. i would hypothesize that your home universe and mine had different temporal variables that result in quantifiable time being offset-"

When Sci looked up to see Dream, Dream was staring back at him with a pleased expression that was decidedly lacking in comprehension. "where did i lose you?"

" _...I am right here?_ "

"no, i mean, while talking, what part did you stop understanding me?"

Dream looked down at the paper now covered with the beauty of science. " _...When you mentioned the coin..?_ "

Sci felt a headache coming on, but it was okay. It was okay. He could try again-

"I got this, Sci-my-Guy," Fresh cut in, glasses reading 'YO-LO' in alternating bright colors. Sci felt a sudden rush of instinctual alertness, his analogue for adrenaline. It was fine, of course. Sci was happy to see Fresh, happy to have his help.

Fresh took two pieces of paper and held them up. "Listen here, lil brotato chip, 'cause this is radical. Universes are so tots like paper! For a whole heap of reasons, but we'll stick to the simple stuff, yo."

Dream nodded along, attentive as always with his deep, hungry eyelights.

"Most universes all start out the same, just basic and white and lots of empty space, feel me? But then sometimes, like, these fresh bros called Creators come, and start making all these crazy marks on the page." He demonstrated by taking a crayon to one of the pages, scribbling hot pink all over the thing.

Sci was getting an even bigger headache, but it was _fine_. He was happy Fresh was sharing his theories with Dream. It was nice. It was fine.

"And look, dawg, now theres an A.U.! A whole alternate universe with color and shapes and some rad-tastic science!"

" _...So Creators make universes?_ " Dream asked.

"That ain't important," Fresh answered without answering, his glasses briefly flashing 'OO-PS'. "But legit, drawing the same thing twice is tots hard, so parts get drawn on the paper a lil different each time, dig? Sci-brah thinking maybe time got drawn all different on your universe compared to his? That ain't bogus at all."

" _...So, we are both correct, brah? Because of... this rad part?_ "

"Word!" Fresh fired off a pair of finger guns, shades reading, 'YE-AH' in those same bright colors.

Sci was definitely developing a headache, but it was okay. He was happy to endure the aches if it meant helping his friend.

Dream smiled a little stronger, a little brighter, a little softer. " _Word!_ " His laughter was like bells, ringing in heavy, resounding echoes that shook the soul.

"...so we came here on..." Sci checked his coat again, just to be sure, "...on march twenty-first. how many days were we here before april?"

Dream looked down at the calendar again, using his fingers to assist him in counting. " _...Is it ten?_ "

"thats right! so, do ya think you're ready for a harder question?"

Dream nodded, giving Sci his undivided, intense attention once again. Fresh, seemingly bored with math, pulled out his yo-yo and started to fool around with it.

"okay, so, we still showed up here on march twenty-first, but for you, it was also july seventh. how many days of difference is that, between your universe and mine?"

Dream's brows furrowed, his smile shrinking but never daring to vanish. Dream was always happy (if more so sometimes than others). Dream tried using his fingers to help, but the numbers were a bit too big to make that viable.

Sci knew that. He wasn't expecting Dream to get this right so fast. He was hoping to use the question to lead into the next lesson.

Even so, Dream stuck to it with an admirable determination. He pulled over a piece of paper and a crayon, writing down notes, numbers, and tallies in his clumsy but careful hand, painstakingly working his way to an answer. " _...Is that... thirty... sixty... ninety-one..._ " Dream squinted down at his hands, his notes, the calendar, pointing at the marked days as he counted them under his breath. "Like... one hundred and... nine days? If I count both the twenty-first, and the seventh, it is... one-hundred-and-nine-days... But if I only count one of them, it is one-hundred-and-eight... But if you only want the days between them, it is one-hundred-and-seven..?"

Sci tallied the numbers in his head quickly, feeling his smile widen. "that's right! good job!" For someone so young, Sci was constantly, and pleasantly, surprised by Dream's penchant for academia.

Fresh nodded, smiling his usual empty smile. "What day is today, home-slice?"

Sci didn't think that was particularly relevant to today's lessons, or even capable of being quantified given they were stuck in a liminal space with it's own warped sense of spacetime, but it was fine. He was happy enough to indulge the unnatural thing infesting their new home, and so was Dream.

Dream squinted at the calendar, his left hand hovering over first one spot, then another, before he brought it down to use his right hand. He hesitated between a few dates, then pointed at April sixth. " _...I think... this one. Is today,_ " he said softly.

Fresh looked over the side of the table, glasses reading a string of question marks. "I was joshin', but wowwie, ya sure?"

" _Yes. I am certain... Because tomorrow is..._ " He slid his hand over to rest on April seventh. " _...Tomorrow is this day. So today is the day before that._ " His smile trembled, gaze going distant, as if looking through the middle distance. His other hand came up to scratch at his cheek. Sci caught his wrist quickly, holding his hand.

"...Tomorrow some kinda special?" Fresh asked.

" _Oh, yes!_ " Dream assured, wings fluttering softly against his back. " _Tomorrow is the Day We Gather, although... We cannot gather now, I suppose._ "

Sci had a number of questions. His head hurt. It was nice. He was happy. "what did you gather for?"

Dream smiled wider, strained. " _For... It is the day... It..._ " Dream reached for the dictionary again, something he did so rarely now, it was odd to see. " _...Mother? Yes. Mother made us. Made the apples. The first are made on that day, and we gather for them..._ "

"...So... it's your birthday?" Fresh translated.

Dream looked back at the dictionary, then up at Sci and Fresh in turn. " _...What is a birthday?_ "

Sci's head hurt a lot. Fresh's screaming did not help, but it was okay. They were happy now.

This was why education was important, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> t-5 minutes until I put painstakingly drawn layouts of what this stupid house looks like right now.
> 
> You will understand why I say that later.
> 
>   
> 


	4. Day-By-Daydreams 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fresh does his own thing and Sci just had to deal with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing for Fresh, even if I don't always do it well XD
> 
> The motivation makes sense in my head, at least.

Fresh disappeared for the rest of the evening, as Sci tried to explain the practice of celebrating birthdays to a kid who did not understand what they were. Dream was, as usual, a pleasure to be around, and Sci was happy to talk to him.

After assigning Dream the chore of keeping track of the calendar (marking off days as they passed so Sci would always know what the date was), he left the child to his own devices. Sci heard Dream cleaning up the livingroom as he always did on his way up the stairs.

Once Sci was on the second floor, out of Dream's Influence, he sagged to the carpet and curled up against the hallway wall, shaking. His head was pounding, his bones dripping in sweat. Sci bit back a groan as he rode out the spasms his soul went through, coughing up flecks of sticky gold dust that tasted like honey. He wished he had some way to save those samples, but what few containers he had on his person were already full, and he had no way of getting more.

Expelling the excess gold through his mouth was a first, at least. And there was more of it, if only marginally. Sci pulled out his notebook, writing down a note about progressively worsening symptoms after nine months of regular exposure: selective memory loss; worsening headaches; agitated soul palpitations; discolored discharge, specifically gold goo, from eyes, soul, and now mouth.

Sci had no idea what to do. With more effort than he would have preferred using, he crawled himself over to his room and into bed.

* * *

Sci knew when he woke up that it was the next day, because when he looked over the railing of the balcony, he saw a large, painstakingly drawn calendar done in crayon affixed to the wall of the stairwell. Days passed by that year were crossed out in purple X's.

He also saw that Fresh was back, filling the room with colorful balloons and streamers. On the livingroom table was a cake, covered in colorful frosting and several candles all shaped like letters to spell 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY'. There was also a box wrapped in paper with a huge, fluffy ribbon.

"what's all this?" Sci asked, already having a good idea. He leaned over the railing, preferring that amount of distance between him and the mystery creature that he was still unsure wanted to eat him or not.

"It's a b-day party, duh," Fresh answered without looking away from the little hand pump he was using to get the balloons filled. "Lil brotato-chip needs a pimped out crib for a funky fresh party, dig?"

Sci could already barely see the floor of half the room under all the balloons. "seems like a lot of trouble to go through when it's just gonna be the three of us..."

"Oh, I already took care of that," Fresh assured, glasses reading 'DA-NK' clearly even from their distance, the D occasionally flickering to a G. "Got our funky fresh lil homeslice a couple of new friends this morning. They're getting along all nice in the playroom."

Sci bristled, rushing down the hall and rounding the corner to bound down the stairs and around to the playroom. He skid to a halt in the foyer, bracing himself against the doorway to the playroom area.

Dream was sitting on a beanbag, two other beanbags in front of him. He seemed to be entirely alone, not even his eyelights focusing on any one place. His head then tilted to one side, and he turned to smile at Sci. " _Good morning, Sci. Have you come to gather as well?_ "

"uh... fresh mentioned new friends?" Sci looked around the room again, fixing his glasses as if that would magically allow him to see what was not there.

" _Yes. They are here,_ " Dream gestured to the empty beanbags. "They are called Feather and Cotton. Friends, this is Sci." Dream listened, head tilted. His smile trembled a moment, in that way that Sci had begun to notice. Reaching into his tunic, Dream pulled out a soft powder blue handkerchief and offered it to the empty air.

That handkerchief levitated out of Dream's hand, up, up, and over to hover above one of the beanbags. Sci watched it become inexplicably damp there, in mid-air. It deformed, crumpling as though it were being squeezed.

" _If it helps you, it is no trouble. My purpose is to help,_ " Dream assured, focusing on the handkerchief with his eyelights.

Sci had heard nothing. He saw nothing, not even a sign of any magic being used. The cloth was simply floating, and becoming wet, all on its own. Sci felt the empty spaces between his bones compress, as if tension in his body had nowhere else to go but within, shrinking away from the perception of what did not make sense at an atomic level.

" _...Are you well, friend?_ " Dream asked, turning back to Sci. " _I would be happy to help._ "

"i-" Sci took a step back. He had just woken up, and he'd very much prefer not to be influenced too soon. "i'll just go help fresh-"

Sci didn't wait for an answer, darting back around the corner into the livingroom. At the very least, he hadn't seen anyone kidnapped. There was no one there.

Maybe it was a prank. Maybe Fresh and Dream set up a wire to manipulate the cloth.

Maybe Sci was starting to hallucinate.

Sci leaned against the livingroom wall and made a quick note about possible psychological abnormalities before looking at the technicolor mess that Fresh had made of the livingroom. Balloons were everywhere. Streamers hung from the banisters and all along the balcony from the second floor. The floors had brightly colored carpets.

Fresh, seeing Sci's return, closed the distance between them, slinging an arm around Sci's shoulders and looming with that empty smile. "Rooms all set, now it's your turn, brah. Take this-'' at which point Fresh offered one of those noise makers iconic to parties, the type that one was meant to blow to make it uncurl and sound off- "and when the little homeslice comes in, blow like ya mean it, feel me?"

Sci took the party favor, looking up at Fresh while trying not to think too hard about what was hidden behind his glasses, what he would much rather _stayed_ behind those glasses and nowhere else. "uh.... yeah. i got it. make this party fun for dream."

"Glad we're on the same page, Sci-my-guy," Fresh hummed, sliding a cheap paper party hat onto Sci's skull. Sci made sure to hold very still, staring at Fresh's baby pink button up as the thing's hands stretched the flimsy elastic loop under Sci's jaw, securing the hat in place with a clever flick of dangerous fingers. Sci was thankful that breathing was a secondary mechanism of his makeup, because his body conveniently forgot how to operate the function.

Seemingly satisfied, Fresh gave Sci two almost-gentle pats on the shoulder before kicking off on his heelies, rolling out of the room and out of sight.

Sci sagged, barely making it to the couch before his legs gave out. Fresh's touch was cold, empty, like the touch of a doll. There was no intent to it, no warmth, no hum of life in the bones of his fingers. If Sci hadn't known monsters all turned to dust after death, he would have sworn that Fresh was-

Well, he had no idea what Fresh was. Except tall. And cold. And smelled like fruit candy. And had a tentacle beast in his skull.

Sci was definitely losing his fucking mind. He needed some fucking coffee. Hard ketchup. A goddamn chocolate bar. _Something._

Fresh led Dream, who was blindfolded, into the room by both hands. As Dream took his first few steps into the livingroom, his wings their first flutters in the air behind him, the area was permeated by a soft, pressurized warmth. Sci relaxed, tension bleeding from him as every anxiety was replaced by contentedness. Today was going to be a wonderful day, a blissful day, and Fresh was right to want to give that back to Dream (underlying motives be damned).

The handkerchief came floating into the room after him, but it was okay.

Fresh led Dream over to the table, leaving him in front of it while he quickly lit the candles on the little cake. "A'aight, my lil dude-bro-chaquito, take a look!"

Dream pulled his blindfold off, blinking at the change from dark to light.

"Happy birthday, dawg!" Fresh shouts, blowing on his own party favor. Sci followed suit, ignoring the two floating ones also going off mid-air. It was fine.

Dream looked down at the cake, going stiff, grin tight. He brought up both hands to cup his face, fingertips clawing into the scars under his sockets as his body trembled. His smile stayed up, stretched wider, quivering like his wings, like his eyelights.

Sci was happy. Something nagged at the back of his mind. It probably wasn't important.

Fresh looked between Dream and the cake, gesturing. "Well, go on, brah, blow them suckers out!"

" _B-blow them... out?_ " Dream repeated, voice small. " _I am... I can... blow out the f-fire..??_ "

"Sure can, br-" Fresh didn't get to finish his sentence before Dream was ~~frantically~~ excitedly blowing out the little candles, leaving nothing but curling smoke behind. "...Rad! Now we can chow down on some of this tasty cake, yo!" Fresh brandished a knife, twirling it in his hands before he started cutting into the cake.

Dream got the first slice, holding the plate delicately in his lap as he looked at it. Fresh passed two plates to what, to Sci, looked like open air, although when Fresh let go, the plates remained floating. Sci was given the next piece, one that came with one of the candles (the "i", to be precise).

Dream continued to look down at his cake slice. " _...Is this... a gift?_ " He asked, quietly, still trembling.

"It's grindage, lil brotato chip," Fresh assured. "Chow down!"

"he means, it's food, so you should try to eat it," Sci was happy to clarify.

Dream took a deep breath, and bit into the cake. Almost instantly, his eyelights blew out into star shapes, his tremors easing. He ate another bite, and another, until he had quickly devoured all of the cake, leaving nary a crumb behind. " _It is- It tastes- rad!_ "

Fresh laughed, a low, hollow thing, ringing with the quivers of something trying to fill a void. "Sure does, lil dude. Ain't nothing like a sweet birthday cake, yo."

"Birthday?" Called a voice that Sci had thought he would never hear again. Sci stood up, looking over to the front door. Ink stood there, heterochromatic eyelights shifting in erratic, joyous patterns. "Happy Birthday! Who's birthday is it?"

" _Mine,_ " Dream answered. " _Welcome home, Ink, my friend._ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't wait for the next chapter kdbdjdjdnddkdnkdbdkdfndkbff


End file.
